


True Love

by Rainia_Nytewolf1



Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Mentions of Henry/Jane Seymour, Miscarriage, Stillbirth, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 20:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainia_Nytewolf1/pseuds/Rainia_Nytewolf1
Summary: The path to true love is never smooth. In the joust with Sir Norris, Henry ends up with a head wound rather than his crippling leg injury. Now, he thinks it's 1509 and that he's 18 again, newly wedded to Catherine of Aragon. With a very pregnant Anne in confinement, the Duke of Suffolk and Thomas Boleyn make the fateful decision to bring Catherine to Henry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So in the process of moving all my fanfics from fanfiction.net, I found this gem. Y'all, I ain't updated this in FOREVER. Hopefully now that I'm getting back into writing, it'll get updated at long last.

"His Majesty, the king has entered the list and will now joust àla plaisance with Sir Henry Norris!"

Drums rumbled and the audience applauded politely as the king, in his shining armor and riding atop his favored white jousting horse, galloped on the list. The king raised his fist several times in the air, clearly indicating his determination to become the victor of this match.

"Do you have any idea why the queen chose not to attend the tournament today?" Charles queried in a low tone to his wife, applauding the king as he returned to his side of the field to ready himself for the joust.

"I was told she wished to avoid the excitements of the tournament that might harm the unborn child," Catherine replied, gazing over at the empty stand reserved for the royal couple. Before Charles could reply, the flag fell and both the king and Norris spurred their horses. Sand flew beneath the animals hooves, and lances were lowered and aimed at each other. A loud crash echoed throughout the stands as Norris' lance hit the king's shield on target. The white horse holding the king staggered beneath the blow and before anyone could react, it fell hard against the wooden beams separating the jousting lanes. The beams gave way with a crack and horse and rider fell to the ground, the rider half- buried underneath his horse.

Horrified, the crowd gasped, many of them rising to their feet to get a better look. The horse managed to pick it's self up and trot away but the king lay unmoving in the sand. Not hesitating for a second, Charles rushed forward, pushing various people out of the way in an effort to reach the king. "Is he dead? Is he dead?" George Boleyn's voice could be heard as if from a distance, though the other man was ahead of him.

Before George could kneel down to check the king, Charles shoved him roughly out of the way. "Let other's help him, you can't," he growled out, taking his place and kneeling in the sand beside the king. With the help of one of the royal physicians, the two men gently moved the king to lie on his back. With trembling fingers, Charles undid the lacings holding the helmet in place and removed it. His eyes were closed and blood ran down the side of the king's face, he noted dimly.

With the utmost care, the physician reached under the armor to check the king's pulse. Minutes seemed to run together endlessly before the man looked at the duke with utter worry creasing his features. "Take him, with all care, into the pavilion, where I may serve him better," he ordered, gesturing impatiently, "and pray for him!"

It was several days before the king woke at last. Dazed and utterly confused, he blinked his eyes open and gazed around. What had happened? He couldn't seem to remember a thing. His body felt like one giant bruise and his head throbbed painfully. A servant he didn't recognize gasped upon seeing him awake and ran quickly away, yelling for Dr. Linacre. When the doctor finally scurried into the room, he'd managed to slowly and painfully prop himself up on his pillows. "Your Majesty, really, you should not over exert yourself," he chided, rushing at once to the king's side. "You've had a very great fall."

Confused, Henry stared at the older gentleman. "I fell?" He repeated, looking at his doctor in confusion.

"Yes, Majesty, in the joust with Sir Norris," the doctor replied slowly before a thought finally occurred to him. "You do not recall? Tell me, sire, what is the last thing you can remember? For instance, what is the year?"

"Don't play games with me, Doctor, it's 1509 of course," Henry replied, frowning at the look on the other man's face. "Where is Katherine? Where is my wife? If I fell, she must be worried. Send her to me at once."

"Of course, your Majesty," Dr. Linacre replied softly, bowing his head in deference before exiting the room.

"Well, what news?" Thomas Boleyn demanded almost the instant the doctor stepped out of the king's bedchambers. He, along with Suffolk and Seymour, had hardly left their positions in the privy chamber just outside the king's rooms whilst they waited for the king to come to his senses.

"My lord, it seems that his majesty has sustained an injury to the head," the doctor began, "he seems to be in perfect health except for one small matter…"

"What small matter?" Suffolk piped up, rising from his seat. "You said he seems in perfect health, so what is it?"

"Your Grace, his Majesty thinks it is 1509 and that he has just married the Dowager Princess," Linacre told them, a helpless shrug lifting his shoulders. "He has asked to see her."

"What should we do?" John Seymour questioned, looking between Thomas and Charles. If his daughter could not displace Anne, better for him to go back to Katherine, he reasoned silently to himself. "Should we send for the Dowager?"

"What say you, Your Grace?" The title stuck like a craw in Charles' jaw but he managed. "Shall we send for her?"

"Gentleman, it could do more harm than good," Linacre cautioned gently but Boleyn waved him off with an impatient gesture.

"It looks as though we have no choice but to do so," he mused, rubbing a hand down his face. "We cannot tell Her Majesty about this, we cannot allow anything to endanger the future heir."

Seeing that he would not win, Linacre bowed to their will. This is not going to end well, he mused as the other men made plans to bring Katherine from The More.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katherine reunites with Henry

Katherine looked up as the Duke of Suffolk was shown into what passed for her audience chamber within The More. Her one remaining lady introduced the Duke before curtsying and showing herself out. "Your Grace," Katherine greeted calmly, setting aside her embroidery and relaxing into her chair.

"Your Majesty," Charles greeted with a bow. "I bring news of the king."

"What has happened to Henry?" She questioned immediately, waving him into the chair in front of her.

With a weary sigh, the Duke settled himself into the chair. "His Majesty was involved in a jousting accident," he began, noting how her face paled at the thought of something happening to Henry. "He seems to be recovering well, but..."

"Yes?" She urged gently. Henry was recovering, but something clearly had to be the matter for Charles to come all the way out here to bring her this news.

"He seems to have lost his memory. He believes it is the year 1509 and that the two of you have recently married," he finished, crushing his fine velvet hat in his hands.

"He… remembers nothing beyond that?" she questioned faintly, unable to reconcile with the idea. How could he possibly forget the pain and suffering he'd put both her and Mary through? The so-called divorce, breaking with the church, nothing?

"I'm afraid not, Majesty. It has been suggested that you come to court to help bring his memory back," he pointed out, wondering how she'd react to it.

Not well, obviously. "You wish for me to try and bring the king's memory back whilst paying homage to that harlot who calls herself the queen?" The Spanish accent of her youth grew thicker, a clear indication that she was obviously upset with the idea. "How can you ask such a thing of me?"

"If I had a choice, I would never ask such a thing of you, Majesty," Charles admitted honestly, knowing at least a little how much the idea had to have hurt. He'd gone through the same span of emotions when he'd had to side with Boleyn after his marriage to the king's sister. "But, he's been asking for you, Majesty."

Katherine closed her eyes and sat back, one hand drifting up to rest over her heart. Of course he'd ask for her. Those early days had been full of gaiety and laughter, with him gazing at her with open love reflecting in his eyes every time he looked at her. As much as he'd hurt her, first with taking mistresses and then asking for the divorce to wed that Boleyn witch, and finally exiling her and Mary, she still loved him. "How can I not go?" she finally spoke, blinking back tears. "If he has asked for me, than I shall go to him."

"Very well, your highness," Charles agreed, wondering vaguely just how he was supposed to get Katherine back to court without Anne's knowledge. "We will leave first thing in the morning-"

"No. We will leave tonight, your Grace. Henry has asked for me and so he shall have me," Katherine retorted, cutting Charles off midsentence. Rising to her feet, her dignity draped around her like a fine cloak, she slowly walked out of the room. "It will not take long for my things to be readied."

Impatience was nothing new to Henry. It had been at least several days since he'd first asked for his wife to be brought to him, and his patience was wearing thinner by the day. Servants were clearly terrified to look at him, as every time they did he snapped at them. Charles had gone missing and for some reason Boleyn seemed to be hanging around an awful lot. Shouldn't the man be in France? He mused, vaguely recalling that the man served as his ambassador. What in God's name is going on here?

He must have dosed off for the next thing he recalled, the door to his bed chambers opened. There was a flurry of muttered voices and then the soft sound of velvet slippers on the stone floor. Katherine! It had to be! Eagerly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the dull throb of still aching muscles. "Sweetheart!" he exclaimed, turning and stopping short. It was Katherine, yes, it had to be, but something was different. She looked almost the same, but older. A sort of sadness hung off her like a bad smell and her eyes were sad when she gazed at him. "Katherine?" he breathed, unable to believe what was right before his eyes.

Settling herself on the edge of the bed, she nodded. "Yes, Henry, it's me," she agreed, a sob catching in her throat. Charles hadn't been lying when he said the king believed himself to be 18 again. It had been years since he'd referred to her as sweetheart and the excited tone he'd used tore at her heart.

"I… I don't understand…" he mumbled in confusion. What was going on? Why did Katherine appear to be so much older than she should be? Why did it look as if she were about to cry? "What's going on?"

"Henry…" she sighed, reaching out and gently grasping his hand between hers. "It's not 1509, my love," she pointed out as gently as she could, noting the disbelief in his eyes.

"It's not..? No, of course, it can't be," he replied, shaking his head as if to try and clear some of the confusion from his mind. "Then… what year is it?"

She sighed, unable to meet his gaze any longer without feeling the urge to cry. He looked lost in a way she'd only seen once before, when their precious boy died only a few weeks into life. His hand disentangling from hers to reach up to grasp her chin and gently direct her to meet his gaze broke the dam holding the tears back. "It's 1535, Henry… and by the law of your church…we are no longer married…" she told him, silent tears coursing down her face.

His mind reeled at this bit of knowledge. 1535? And they were no longer married? "Are you certain?" he asked, then shook his head again. "I mean…of course you are…but how can we no longer be married? Katherine… I don't understand…" he mumbled, frustrated tears pricking at his eyes. Pulling her into his arms, he buried his head in her neck and began to sob brokenly. Her arms around him made him sob all the harder, unable to believe that the woman he'd loved from the moment he saw her was no longer his wife. Please, God, he prayed silently. Please, let this just be some horrible dream…


	3. Chapter 3

Finally managing to control himself, Henry disentangled himself from his impromptu embrace with Katherine. Her dark eyes, once so full of joy and life, now watched him sadly. Something about her gaze told him that this was no nightmare. "Tell me," he croaked hoarsely, before clearing his throat. "Please, tell me everything."

"Are you sure, Henry?" she queried gently, resting her hands in her lap and gazing at him seriously. When he simply nodded, she sighed softly before nodding. "Alright," she finally answered after a long moment, beginning with her many failed pregnancies. Her voice somehow remained steady as she recounted all that had happened, including Bessie Blount giving birth to a son. She told him how he'd been named a Defender of the Faith by the pope for condemning Martin Luther's heretical teachings, including Luther's reaction of saying Henry acted like a strumpet in a tantrum. He scowled furiously at this part, clearly annoyed that such a man should call him thus.

Before he could interrupt, she came to what he'd called 'His Great Matter.' The look of horror on his face as she recanted how he'd broken with the church when they'd refused to grant his divorce almost startled her into silence. He'd been so determined to have that Boleyn girl that he hadn't cared but then she remembered he thought he was only 18. The news that he'd ordered his former tutor, Thomas More, executed for not recognizing him as the head of the church clearly stung him deep. His face went drastically pale and he seemed to sink into the pillows that helped him sit up. Keeping her personal feelings out of this was difficult, but she managed it. By the time she'd finished, the sun was setting low in the sky, casting a fiery glow throughout Henry's chambers. Feeling drained in a way she hadn't felt in ages, Katherine finally stopped speaking. "You should rest now, Henry," she chided softly, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"Yes," he answered vaguely, clearly lost in his own thoughts. "Will you come tomorrow?"

"If you wish," she agreed with nod, moving to rise to her feet. His hand reached out and snagged hers before she could fully rise, causing her to look at him curiously. "Yes, Henry?"

"I… I don't know if it means anything at this point… but I'm sorry," he began, keeping his eyes focused on her hand in his. "I do not recall any of that which you've said tonight… I never sought to hurt you, Katherine…"

Swallowing back tears, Katherine couldn't trust her voice for a moment. Would he remember this moment if he got his memory back? She wondered, silently praying he would. "I know, Harry," she finally settled on saying, which made him look up at the shortening of his name. "I know. I will see you tomorrow." With that, she gently tugged her hand from his grip, reaching up to caress his cheek a final time before rising and exiting the room.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"How are you, your Majesty?" Charles asked later, having long since shown Katherine to her rooms. The Boleyn's were off doing damage control, keeping the court from knowing the true extent of Henry's memory loss. The king had enemies everywhere, even at his own court, so it could not be widely known just how bad the fall had affected his mind.

"I really did all that she said, didn't I, Charles?" Henry's voice is small in the cavernous room. Twilight had fallen and now only the glow from the fireplace lit the chambers. "I broke with the Church, turned my kingdom upside down and for what?"

"I'm afraid you did just that, Henry," the other man replied, half leaning on one of the posts surrounding the king's bed. He'd never seen his friend look so miserable, not even when Elizabeth of York had passed. Arthur's death had hit him hard, too, but the news of becoming the Prince of Wales and heir apparent had almost cushioned that particular blow.

"Now, I find I am married to a woman I don't even know, Katherine is in exile by my own words and I still don't even have a son," the king replied in a frustrated tone, hitting the bed beneath him in agitation. "Why can't I remember any of this?"

"Dr. Linacre says your memory should return," Charles tried to point out helpfully, only for the king to glare at him.

"What if it doesn't, Charles? What then?" Henry demanded, anger and frustration coursing through him. He'd been hurt in both war and jousts before but he'd never lost his memory before. Could this possibly be permanent? The thought horrified him. If it was, what was he going to do? There was no way he could remain king in this state. Here he was, married to a woman he didn't remember, head of a church he didn't recall creating, and believing he was 18.

"I wish I could tell you, Henry," Suffolk replied with the slightest shrug of his shoulders. He certainly prayed almost hourly that the king would regain his memory. If he didn't, Charles had little to no doubt that somehow the Boleyn's would maneuver into a position to declare that the senior Boleyn would take the throne as his daughter's regent. The mere thought of such a thing happening made his skin crawl. Paying deference to the daughter was bad enough, but to pay homage to a man that he hated? He'd sooner commit self-murder. "I wish I could tell you."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Well? What news of the king?" Thomas Seymour practically demanded of his father the instant the older man walked into his assigned chambers.

Sir John rubbed wearily at his head as he tried in vain to stave off the headache he could feel blossoming. "It seems his Majesty has lost his memory, and has no idea who Anne Boleyn is."

"That's a good thing, right?" Edward Seymour piped up, looking between his father and brother. "If he doesn't know who she is, than we can bring Jane-"

"No, boys," John told them firmly, stopping any plotting in its tracks. "Not only does the king not know who Mistress Boleyn is, he believes he's only just become king. It seems he thinks he's only 18. They've brought the Queen back to try and rouse his memory."

Thomas frowned in thought a moment before an idea started wiggling its way into his head. "If not Jane, why not the queen?" he thought aloud, getting confused looks from both his brother and father. "Well, better for Her Majesty to be recognized as Queen again than for that Boleyn wench to remain in power."

With a frustrated huff, John plopped down in a chair and stared at his son. "And how do you propose we turn his attention back to Queen Katherine in the event that the Boleyn girl manages to whelp a boy?"

The look between his sons chilled him, as Thomas smirked. "I'm sure we can think of something."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this is unfinished. Right now, I'm working on two fics at once so it'll be a bit for this one.

Almost from the moment the king's eye had landed on his sister, Thomas Seymour had begun plotting for her to usurp Anne Boleyn's place as Queen. He, along with his brother and father, had coached her on everything it took to win the king's affections. She couldn't allow them to be alone together; she couldn't take any gifts no matter how grand. It was a lucky thing that she was still a virtuous maiden, especially here at court where so many women were not. That made it easier for her to turn away the king's arduous advances, vowing to remain a chaste maiden. It seemed that their plan was working so far, with the king doing everything in his power to honor Jane's maidenhood.

The jousting incident, however unfortunate, put a kink in their plans however. Thomas scowled darkly at the thought. The king losing his memory was not helping their cause whatsoever. As long as he remained confined to his chambers, he could not turn his attention on Jane and they could not further their ambitions. Bad enough that the queen was having her lying in and it would be worse still if she managed to produce a son! If she managed that, all their carefully laid plans would be for naught. Anne Boleyn would remain Queen of England, and likely be in a more secure position than ever before. Jane and all the Seymour's would likely be banished from court at her word. They couldn't let that happen. Well, Ican't let that happen, he mused, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair.

He'd nearly smacked his sister earlier when they'd broken the news to her that the king had lost his memory and Katherine had been brought back to try and help rouse it….

'If I cannot be Queen, then perhaps we can convince him to return to Her Majesty, Queen Katherine!'

God's wounds, was his sister really such an idiot? Yes, better for the king to divorce and discard Anne Boleyn to return to his true wife, but it would be better still for his majesty to discard the queen for Jane! Didn't the girl realize that with her becoming Queen and producing an heir could raise their family in ways they'd only dreamed? Their father may be content with his position and esteem but Thomas and Edward refused. The only way for them to rise was through Jane, and if that meant damning his soul by killing the babe in the Boleyn wench's womb, then so be it. The only trick was how he would manage such a thing without being noticed.

Everyone knew the punishment for people who were caught poisoning others and Thomas was not about to let himself be caught. Jane couldn't be trusted to do it for obvious reasons. While she was still a member of the Queen's ladies, she no longer had direct access to the queen during her lying in. Damnation, how was he going to do this? No sooner had he thought that, than an idea began to form.

"How are you today, Henry?"

Katherine's soft voice, still tinged with the Spanish of her youth, broke Henry out of his thoughts. He'd been sitting there for the better part of an hour, trying his damndest to remember the events Katherine had told him and still couldn't recall anything. "I still can't remember," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking for the entire world like a five year old in a pout.

Fighting the urge to smile, she walked over to where they'd put a chair for her next to his bed. Sitting down, she smoothed her skirts carefully before looking up to meet his watchful gaze. When he continued to stare at her, she tilted her head slightly and returned the look. "What is it?" she queried carefully, wondering if his memory was beginning to come back.

"I… I still don't understand why I did it. I love you, I know I do, and that's what makes no sense. Why would I do that to you? To us?" he remarked, breaking eye contact and looking away with a frustrated noise. It always came back to why. Why did he do this, why did he do that. No one, not even Charles, could answer him as to why. He'd longed for Katherine for so long, first during her marriage to Arthur and then those dark years where she'd languished in poverty during her widowhood. He'd played the Lancelot to her Guinevere, galloping in and rescuing her after his father had finally died and left him the crown. Now, the only thing he could remember was up to their wedding and then nothing. It was like a blank canvas in his mind, waiting for the artist to finish painting.

"I failed to give you a son," she murmured, carefully lowering her eyes before he could meet hers once more. Just saying those words hurt her in a way that went straight to her soul. Not even Henry telling her that he wanted a divorce could ever hurt her as much as the knowledge that she'd failed him on the most basic of levels. Her little Henry, dying before he could ever have the chance to live, still haunted her. The miscarriages, the stillborn children, she still prayed for them every day. They'd tried so hard and in the end, it had all been for naught. The many prayers they'd both offered up, along with the whole country, had been in vain for she'd never managed to produce a living son. All she could give him was Mary and while they both loved their daughter deeply, a son was the one thing they'd sought and never managed.

"That wasn't your fault," he told her, watching as she seemed to withdraw into herself. Her head snapped up at his words and she stared at him in silence. He, too, lapsed into silence, briefly thrown by what he'd uttered. Where had that come from? He wondered vaguely, only to be snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of a choked sob.

Unable to control herself, Katherine felt the tears rise up. God, how she'd longed to hear someone say those words! A strangled sob escaped her, and she covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the noise. When he opened his arms and beckoned her to his side, something within her broke. Rising so fast the chair she'd been sitting in tipped over, she nearly flung herself into his arms and began sobbing hysterically.


End file.
